


Cradle in the Rushes

by Vortaesthetic



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:08:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/pseuds/Vortaesthetic
Summary: Plot twist: Weyoun 6 lives. Odo does not.





	Cradle in the Rushes

The Rio Grande was rocking violently as it desperately tore through Dominion space toward safety, four Jem’Hadar warships hot on its’ heels, bright lances of phaser fire piercing the vacuum between them. It was taking heavy damage; the runabout was emitting a distress call to any friendlies in the area and unless someone showed up soon to take up the fight on her behalf, the ship and the souls aboard it would be lost.

The air was thick with smoke and char inside the cockpit as Odo concentrated on their desperate sprint for Federation space. He was transmitting the signal as far as he could whilst pouring all the reserve power into the warp nacelles. Weyoun was alternating between putting out cockpit fires and returning phaser fire with their pursuers, trying every trick in his wheelhouse to try to disable or slow down the gnashing beast at their heels.

Odo prayed that one of the Klingon patrol details were close enough to come to their aid. Otherwise, all of this would have been for nothing.

“Odo,” Weyoun croaked through the acrid smoke in the air of the cockpit. “Odo. It’s hopeless. We were fools to ever think that we would make it.”

“It’s not over until it’s over Weyoun,” Odo growled. He had no time for the Vorta’s defeatism. They couldn’t afford to think that way now. “Shut up and focus on getting us out of this mess.”

Odo guided the ship deftly, bobbing and weaving tightly around the asteroids, forcing the Jem’Hadar to contend with the dangerous debris field. It was a dangerous tactic, but they couldn’t afford to use anything less; to play it safe was to lie down and die. The second attack ship did not correct course fast enough and flew headlong into the path of a large asteroid, smashing into the side in a showy spray of igniting gases and flying debris, raining down on the ship flying in its wake. 

Weyoun was aiming his shots at the first ship carefully, attempting to disable their warp nacelles; he struck like a viper, one-two-three in rapid succession, deftly and precisely pummeling the exposed dilithium propulsion conduit. The strike worked, the enemy ship listing off-balance and falling back as their starboard nacelle failed.  
Suddenly, a message came through the damaged comms unit. It was artifacted and fuzzed by static, but it breathed the fresh air of hope into that cockpit all the same.

“–eration runabout. This is the IKS Ning’Tao and the Orantho. Closing on your position. Stand b–”

Odo and Weyoun were both practically launched over the consoles by a direct hit. The systems were warning of imminent shield failure. Klaxons were sounding; Weyoun was lying nearly unconscious on the floor after having struck the bulkhead.

_Please, please, please…hold out a little longer._

_Nerys. I’m coming back._

_One way or another, I am coming back._

“Founder,” the Vorta mumbled, barely awake. “Odo…I can stop this.”

Odo was at a loss. He was no god. There can be no greater proof to testify that fact than this. This wasn’t the kind of end that gods met, burning ship coming down around his ears and his only worshiper lying half-dead at his feet; a head full of golden secrets soon to be locked down forever.

They have come too far for this.

They have sacrificed too much to let this happen.

Even as the Klingon Birds of Prey moved to engage the Jem’Hadar, the Runabout was living on borrowed time. They had to get off. Immediately. 

The ship was rocked by another massive hit to the engines. The badly damaged computer system sounded the alarms for a cabin compartment radiation leak. The warp drive radiation would be lethal to both Vorta and changeling before long. Odo steeled his jaw and made a decision. He hailed the Klingon ships on the emergency subspace band, shut off the engines.

‘Warp breach is imminent,” Odo shouted brusquely. “High priority asset on board, immediate evacuation necessary, two personnel. Emergency medical assistance needed as soon as possible.”

“Acknowledged.”

Odo reverted to a gelatinous state, covering Weyoun’s body to shield him from the radiation until transport could pull them out. Weyoun had to survive. He was the key to victory. The key to life.

_He’ll understand._

_Of all people, he would understand._

The deadly radiation washed over them and Odo burned.

He burned for them both as they waited for salvation.  
______________________________________________________

Weyoun woke up expecting to see smoke and fire and expecting to greet death.

He did not.

He was surrounded by clean grey bulkheads, secured in a medical bunk, hooked up to fluids and monitors. _Federation space, then. Safety. Deep Space Nine,_ he thought. _Bless you, Founder Odo._

But...he was alone.

That was strange. There should be someone else here.

Wait…where was Odo?

A pit of dread formed suddenly in his stomach. Odo was not here. What had happened after he had blacked out. _Gods above,_ Weyoun begged. _Founder, please be well…_

He used all the strength in him to roll himself off of the table and to pull his lines out, raising himself on unsteady legs like a newborn foal. He forced his way forward towards the door, leaving a trail of blood and wires and twisted bed sheets in his wake.

What he saw in the procedure room filled him with dread.

Major Kira Nerys was kneeling beside the procedure table, wracked with great heaving sobs, her hands covered in a dusting of fine charcoal ash–

The ashes of a founder.

The ashes of Odo.

A wailing, animal cry tore out of the room then, and it took a minute for him to realize that it was coming from him as he stumbled to the side of the cot. His god was dead, hope itself was dead, and all that made life worth living for had died in order to save lowly, defective, unworthy Weyoun.

Nerys whirled on him then, slapping him in the face, fat tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dripping with pain as she hissed at him, aggrieved by the loss of her lover and her best friend. He couldn’t fathom the pain that she must be feeling now–

“He told me that he did it for you. That you deserved to live. That you were worth saving,” she ground out between the hiccups and the surging grief. “You’re going to prove him right. Right now, today, and for the rest of your life. And if you ever let him down, Gods help you-- I will repay the favor myself!”

He didn't hear her, so lost was he in his own suffering. Weyoun keened loudly, pressing his head to the floor, his tears dripping on the floor and snot running down his face. He could vomit. _This was wrong, wrong, wrong. It should have been him. Never the Founder. It should have been him. His gods are dead, and his hands are stained with the shame._

“I am not worthy,” he cried. “I am not worthy, Fate take me instead! Take me instead…”

Much later, when the madness had worn off, he came to his senses, wrapped in Kira’s arms. It wasn’t an embrace of love, but one of understanding. Both of them had lost something critical in their lives and nobody but them could understand how truly devastating it was. It was more than losing a lover or a friend, it was a hole ripped open in the universe, a rift in the meaning of life, in happiness, in the future. Together, they hurt. Together, they mourned.

Things would never be the same.

For the rest of his life, Weyoun would wear the black of mourning.

For the rest of his life, Weyoun would work to make Odo proud.

And when the war was won, Weyoun could finally give thanks to Odo for his sacrifice.

I can see your wisdom now, Founder.

Perhaps life was still worth saving after all.


End file.
